


Samson

by roadkill_punk



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 15:32:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadkill_punk/pseuds/roadkill_punk
Summary: inspired by the song "samson" by regina spektor. i wrote this about four years ago and i now have very different thoughts about alternian gender theory and social structure and writing this 'verse as a whole, but i hope you enjoy it anyways





	Samson

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the song "samson" by regina spektor. i wrote this about four years ago and i now have very different thoughts about alternian gender theory and social structure and writing this 'verse as a whole, but i hope you enjoy it anyways

Your name is Sollux and you are not a girl.  
“Are you sure?” Aradia asks softly as she flits around behind you, gathering combs and scissors and whatever else she keeps on hand for taming her massive head of curls. The girl is like fucking Rapunzel, if Rapunzel was also a wool-matted sheep. Sheepunzel. “You could get culled for this, you know.” Her voice wavers, and she rests a warm hand on your shoulder.  
“For fuck’th thake, aa, jutht cut my goddamn hair.” You snap. She’s making you nervous, all this worrying and moving around. You never stop fidgeting, but it’s weird when she does it.  
She sighs but obeys. In the mirror, you watch the light reflected off her scissors and the thick chunks of black hair that drop to the floor. It’s weirdly mesmerizing. The snip, snip of the scissors, the tick tock tick tock of her clock, the gentle sounds of her exhales and inhales. Occasionally she sniffles or sighs, unconscious disruptions to her steady breathing.  
As she works, the sun peeks it’s head over the horizon and yellow light streams in through the dusty window. It creeps across the concrete floor, looking like floodwater spilling across the hive. Ever so slowly, the light reaches your socked feet. Through the filter of the filthy glass, it’s rendered harmless, and you flex your toes, enjoying the warmth. It’s chilly in Aradia’s half-underground hive.  
She snips off the last fringe and steps back to admire her handiwork. You tilt your head, taking in your new appearance. It’s choppy and uneven, especially the bangs, but unmistakably male.  
She runs her fingers through your hair and considers. “What do you think?”  
“I think I look like a dumbath.” You scoff.  
“That’s because you are a dumbass.” She replies cheerily.  
“Wow, thankth. I’m wounded. You’ve cruthed the last pathetic remainth of my thelf ethteem. It’th like my thelf ethteem wath an eggthell, and you were a thteamroller, and you jutht keep rolling back and forth over it until the egg dutht is completely ground into the thidewalk.”  
“Why is the steamroller on the sidewalk? That sounds like a safety hazard.”  
“Thcrew you, aa.” You turn your head back and forth to see it at different angles. Loose bits of hair float down, glowing in the sunlight. “Theriouthly, though. You did alright.”  
“Wow, Sollux, don’t start crying.” She teases, flashing a grin.

Eventually she heads back to her respiteblock, and you wander into the nutritionblock. The sun is nearly overhead-- most trolls would be snoring in their recuperacoons by now, but you’ve never been good at keeping a regular schedule. Everything looks strange and washed out in the bright light.  
Aradia keeps her cooling rectangle stocked with food she scavenges outside, root vegetables and berries and whole dead animals, but there’s always something adequately processed and packaged for you to eat. Today, it’s a loaf of wonder bread. You pick open the plastic bag and pull out a mushy white slice. Without bothering to toast it, you sink your teeth into the soft dough and amble back through the hallway.  
Everything is illuminated. Everything shines so brightly you can barely open your eyes. This late in the morning, there are no songbugs chirping outside the window, no featherbeasts singing. It’s silent and white in a way you associate with insomniac coding binges and pounding migraines. This is the best and worst part of the day, when you’re alone with yourself and your thoughts. This is the time when you stare in the mirror and despise your feminine body with every fiber of your being. When you write the genius code to end the universe, or bounce off the walls, or smash everything in sight. This is when there’s no one around to stop you.  
But today, there is. From the other room, Aradia is calling your name in a sleepy voice, waiting in a recuperacoon big enough to accommodate the both of you. You take one last look around the incandescent hive, and shamble into her pleasantly dark room. She smiles with mucous sopor slime clinging to her skin and reaches for your hand.


End file.
